My Mao alarmclock died. I am unimpressed.
It also means that I must now find another inanimate object to pit myself and others against. And I've found the perfect one: my pencil case.
It's the 1962 edition Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. 7; hollowed out, with my stationery inside. And people can't seem to open it without it attacking them.
Case in point this afternoon: I was at Hurstville station waiting for a bus to get me home when I ran into one of the ex-Marists (Kogarah Marist College, a Catholic boy's high school relatively close to St. G) who now attends Sydney Boys. Upon looking quizzically at the old encyclopaedia tied closed with a shoelace which was on top of my folder, I informed him it was my pencil case, at which point he tried to open it. And failed.
Pencil case: 1. Humanity: 0.
After showing him how to undo the shoelace, he opened the cover... at which point a highlighter jumped (yes, jumped. I shit you not) out.
Pencil case: 2. Humanity: still 0.
The funny thing is that I never have any trouble with it. I suppose it's because it respects its maker.
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